


and it gets colder and colder

by theankletattoo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Bottom Louis, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Rimming, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Title from a Taylor Swift Song, Top Harry Styles, also it's set in like the 70s, the sex is interrupted...apologies, this might hurt im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theankletattoo/pseuds/theankletattoo
Summary: There is something beautiful about the way Louis goes pliant and soft, lips parting in silent gasps, his cool demeanor vanishing at the slightest of touches.au. harry wants to take care of louis. things take a turn.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 143





	and it gets colder and colder

**Author's Note:**

> this just happened,,,, don’t look at me. it’s also the first time that i’m writing smut in a long long while so please be nice skdmsjs
> 
> title from taylor swift’s coney island.

Outside, December is grey.

It’s always grey but this time there’s an underlying storm brewing underground, Harry feels it in the cracked asphalt and chalk covered sidewalks. 

He keeps waking up sweat soaked even on the coldest days, temples damp, shorts clinging to his thighs uncomfortably. He watched the snow from the windows.

The skin under his mum’s eyes turns into violet, the blood vessels span across like thunderbolts, not unlike the fading ink on her skin. She is burning out and he has no idea how to stop it.

“Another long shift?” He forces a smile on his face.

It comes out as a grimace but she doesn’t seem to mind. “Think so, a different one today.”

His mum has switched hospitals more often than not, rather than overexploiting the respect and easy money it brings, she treats people for free. He admires that about her even in the tightest and stickiest of situations that puts them in.

She leaves for work, he leaves for school, the roads freshly cleared.

There is not enough music in his veins.

He stays close to Cynthia and Louis, trying to find some warmth — Louis is eternally golden, he is eternally warm even though his hands are always so cold. He is the only splash of colour in his dreary day.

Winter brings a haziness to everything, his vision is more softened, white, dew, and fog. 

His hands are warm, powdery snow clouds fill his mind and he allows himself to sigh dreamily — Louis and he are soulmates, Harry will warm up his hands and Louis will thaw his frozen soul.

_Wishful thinking._

That wishful thinking leads to a lot more.

Harry kisses him a lot more than he should, than it is safe to without blowing their cover. It’s hard, always having one eye open, looking over shoulders, trying to not give away their secret.

Even with all the risks they kiss a lot, behind the dusty shed filled with old sports equipment, under the bleachers during the eight minute break between chemistry and calc. They skip the study hours and spend it kissing, groping, _breathing_ , fingers pale and cold, slipping under the ugly sweater vests, hissing into each other’s mouths, swallowing noises, breath icy.

Louis wants to go back to his house after school and he tells him as much. “My dad won’t even be home until midnight. He’s busier ‘round the holidays,” he says and there is a bitterness decorating the words like silver tinsel.

He agrees without a second thought, he just wants to touch him everywhere, where his skin stretches thin and the strong bones of his ribs are visible, the curve of his waist, the jut of his pelvis. He is a tad desperate. “Will you make me tea?”

He laughs into his mouth, fond, sweet, honey like. “I always do, don’t I? I always will, H.”

The _always_ feels heavier than it should. Harry likes it — it’s tethering him.

He anchors Harry. 

He tries not to let his eyes stray too much even if they itch to catch another glimpse of the checkered trousers tightening around Louis’ arse. 

He wants him and he is trying — fuck, he is trying — to suppress it, his knuckles are white and protruding with how hard he’s grappling onto the bars of his bike, the chipping black paint stuck to his palms, the smell of metal dotting his fingers. His heart is thundering, he feels the loud noises rattle and shake his fragile bones.

Snowflakes melt on his nose.

His heartbeat doesn’t ease until Louis leads him to his room, their fingertips touching, desire curling in his belly, whispers of lust reaching up, clogging his throat, kissing the red of his nose and ears.

They tumble down on his bed, his semi new white converse left at the door, sweaters carelessly strewn on the carpeted floor, belts unbuckled, shirts open and gaping, bodies hot where they are touching, hands tangled in each other’s hair, mouths chapped and spit slicked, exchanging greedy kisses. 

“Get out of your clothes,” Louis demands, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, sitting up to rid himself of his own garments, movements rushed, mirroring desperation flashing on their faces.

Harry often wonders if there is a little beast in him, prowling in the empire that is his body, biding its time, ready to break free. The beast howls in him, it is a cry of hunger.

He watches Louis.

Remnants of summer are spanned out on his body, creamy pale skin peeking through below the band of his boxers, the rest of him honeyed, glowing from the inside. 

He is starving for him. God, he wants to eat him. “I want to eat you out,” he blurts out, chest blotchy, curls spilling over his forehead.

Louis grins like the devil himself, fingers teasingly tugging at the band, daring him to take them off.

He does, sucking in a breath, forcing himself not to let the moan slip out. “You are so bloody sinful, Lou.”

“Don’t I know it, darling.” It’s not a question, he knows. He is all too aware of how much he affects Harry and he is so smug about it.

“A fucking minx,” he gripes, leaning down to bite at the pudge of his belly.

He feels the tight clench of his belly. 

There is something beautiful about the way Louis goes pliant and soft, lips parting in silent gasps, his cool demeanor vanishing at the slightest of touches.

And Harry greedily feasts on these sinful sights.

“Will you get on with it,” Louis grumbles, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes a bright electric blue. 

He pulls his knees close to his chest, one arm holding up his thigh, the other hastily pushing a pillow under his hips, just below his tailbone. 

Harry watches it with lust darkened eyes, heartbeat stuttering. It takes him a minute too long but he’s batting at Louis’ delicate hand, adjusting the pillow and his position, lightly scratching along his thigh just to make him huff prettily.

He trails his fingers along the length of his hard cock, and experimentally tugs at the trimmed hair at the base and the reaction he gets is _glorious_. Louis kicks his feet out, his arm falling away heavily. 

“Harry, I will kick you in the nuts if you don’t get your mouth on me,” he threatens, toes already nudging his sides, needy but demanding.

“Christ, you’re so impatient.”

Harry spreads him open, rubbing over his pink hole, resisting the urge to tug on the sparse dusting of hair around the muscle.

He leans down to nuzzle. He would die a happy person if he died right there, between Louis’ legs, inhaling his scent of musk and boy, something undeniably sweet tickling his nose, just under the surface.

He lets saliva pool in his mouth before letting it drip down his balls to his fluttering rim. It’s _filthy_ , so fucking filthy the way he is licking a fat stripe along his perineum, his hands pushing his thighs apart, gripping the soft flesh as though he wants bruises in the shape of his fingers to bloom.

It drives him crazy, his taste, his noises, his body, his smell.

He tastes like caramel or maybe that is just his skin but it’s got him hooked — all his senses are in overdrive, he is fucking overwhelmed and he’s just got his tongue in his arse.

A litany of curses fall from Louis’ lips, toes curling into the sheets, fingers tangling themselves in his hair to pull, to have something to keep him grounded.

His cheeks are wet, his nose is wet, the pillow is wet and Harry is still licking into him, tonguing at the loosening ring, shallowly fucking in and out, hair stuck to his temples.

His lungs burn.

“Enough, fuck me now, Harry. Fuck me,” he keens squirming under his hold, cock leaking on his tummy.

He hums and lifts his face, face shiny with spit, the taste of him still heavy on his tongue, movements a little sluggish.

“You’re the devil, darling,” he tells him, green eyes glazed, cock swinging between his legs as he slides off the bed to get the little bottle of lube.

Louis only whines, too turned on to insult him.

The bottle is still full. Harry feels a weird urge to gloat about it. He rummages around for a condom but he comes up empty handed.

“Lou, there are no condoms.”

“I know but I got tested and I’m clean, so — I want it bare.”

He takes Harry’s silence as a rejection. “‘S okay if you don’t though, I’m sure there are some in my closet. I’ll get them—”

Harry is kissing him before he can finish his sentence. His mouth still tastes of him and he aches at the thought of it.

He makes a quick work of opening him up, already a little loose from the rimming, fingers squelching as they move in and out. 

Louis whimpers in reply to his rumbling groans. _This_ is his favourite music.

“Gonna fuck you now. Are you ready for me, baby?” His face is gentle and loving, a stark contrast to the way his fingers are sitting snug in his arse, rubbing at the walls.

Louis nods. “Yeah, yeah. About time, fuck —” his words taper off into a moan because Harry is pushing himself in, tight heat enveloping him.

White noise fills his ears, overwhelming ecstasy crashes over him. 

“Can I move, baby?”

“Yes, yes,” he weakly mewls, digging his nails into Harry’s shoulders.

Nothing but the sound of their laboured breathing echoes in the room, red pooling high on their cheeks, foreheads shining with a sheen of perspiration.

Louis is the one to break it.

“You’ve been sad,” he grunts out, thumbing at the sharp curve of his jaw, swallowing harshly as he tries to get used to the feel of his bare prick in him.

“I have, yeah,” he says, voice strained, burying his face into his softly defined torso, mouthing at his nipple, slowly thrusting in.

He sucks at the rosy bud and bites it with his teeth, thrusting in at the same time. Louis clenches around him in reply.

This euphoric feeling feels sinful, the slow drag of skin against skin, flesh hot, the shape of their bodies printed on the sheets where they are connected. 

“Putting your dick in me doesn’t make you happy anymore?” It’s meant to be a joke but it makes him jerk.

He can barely think much less answer his questions but even the mere idea that Louis doesn’t make him happy makes him feel _wrong_.

“Oh no, angel. You are the only one who makes me happy,” he confesses, words tender, escaping him like December mist, spreading a blush across the apples of his cheeks.

There are tears swirling in his eyes, nose burning as he keeps up his rhythm, the confession oddly pure amidst their filthy fucking.

They are ethereally beautiful here, still halfway through an orgasm, grains of time slipping through their fingers, safety compromised but they can’t rush this.

Harry cries into his neck, Louis peppers kisses all over his wet cheeks. 

He feels the tight twisting of his belly ease, the need to fuck it out seeping out, limbs turning heavy.

“I don’t want to—” he hiccups, tip of his nose red, lips bitten and bright.

“Shh, I know,” he whispers, eyes softened, helping him pull out.

Louis bites back a hiss, tightly shutting his eyes. His hole is oversensitive and he hasn’t come but this is more important

Fucking can wait.

He is gentle as he ties the condom and hides the lube, hastily pulling the sheets away and dumping them in the corner.

His hands are gentle as they hold Harry’s, leading them to his bathroom, standing under the shower head, fierce murmurs of we’ll be alright, his fingers tracing the firm muscles under the moon pale skin, planting a bruise, a stamp of his love, washing his hair, letting him wash his back, flaccid dicks brushing under the spray of warm water.

Shame prickles ripe on Harry’s face. He was supposed to take care of Louis and he failed to do it. His tears mix with the water.

Louis squeezes his hand but doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them talk. Louis puts on Led Zeppelin. 

They both sprawl out on the bed, a little wet and a little flushed, steam still pouring out of the bathroom, their skin strangely smells of cinnamon and it reminds him of Christmas.

He hates how needy he is, but he allows himself to be pampered and continues to hum along to The Rain Song, burrowing closer to leech off warmth from Louis.

“I’m sorry.”

“We all need to be taken care of, love.”

“Was supposed to take care of you,” he sullenly grumbles, tangling their fingers, a smile tugging on his lips at the size difference.

“You can make up for it the next time.” He sounds fond...and maybe. 

Maybe his wishes aren’t that far fetched. 

He closes his eyes, a white bomb bursts in his chest and the hotness feels an awful lot like love.

_Love._

The promise of a next time envelopes him in a blanket of warmth, the steady thrum of Louis’ heartbeat a lullaby.

Outside, December is grey.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://hadestyles.tumblr.com/post/637840383924125696/and-it-gets-colder-and-colder-by-rougesny)
> 
> [tweet](https://twitter.com/ROUGESNY/status/1339954537839267841?s=19)


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